


The vows we make (and the promises we break)

by Tilly_the_Mouse



Series: Every choice heavier than a crown [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Warnings, Gen, I believe that Lyanna and Arthur were absolutely salty bffs, Just a self-indulgent fic where I answer my own questions, Multi, Other, This is setting up some major plot rearrangement for the main storyline, Turns out Jon Arryn doesn’t have the staunch honor Ned does, and surprise! This was a prequel series the whole time, and ‘what if Tywin got to the throneroom before Ned?’, heavily altered timeline, like ‘what if Sansa was born first?’, ‘Are we going to deal with Jaime’s trauma from the Kingsguard?’ Heck yes we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilly_the_Mouse/pseuds/Tilly_the_Mouse
Summary: A self-indulgent look at a different way Robert’s Rebellion could have gone (and the consequences therein)
Relationships: Catelyn/Brandon, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, One sided Jon/Rhaegar
Series: Every choice heavier than a crown [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988755
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Brandon Stark

“So you would abscond in the night like a brigand after a display of devotion and heroism that would befit a song?” The sweet familiar voice, normally fond and dignified, was now laced with a twinge of resigned sorrow that he knew he was the cause of.

Brandon Stark had earlier received a Raven stating that Prince Rhaegar had absconded with his sister Lyanna, so it was no surprise that his betrothed ~~his beloved~~ Catelyn (who he had just defended in single combat from that upstart little worm Baelish), would know him well enough to know that he **had** to leave. Honor demanded it. First the debacle at Harrenhal and now _this_? The Prince needed to answer for his actions and the sooner the better.

Slowly, almost sheepishly, he turned to face her- enchanting auburn hair that reminded him of the weirwood leaves of home and river blue eyes filled with open understanding. It both pained his heart to leave her and filled it to know he had her confidence.

“I may be a Stark, but I hold true to your house’s words; Family, Duty, Honor... I would not leave your side for anything less.” His hand immediately sought the softness of her cheek as she closed the distance between them.

“I would never want you to. However I do ask that you wait a moon’s turn, or at least not leave _immediately_.” At his confused look she smiled and kissed his palm before explaining.

“If we move up the wedding, you can ride to King’s Landing with my father’s men behind you.” He grinned at that and kissed her.

“My clever Cat.” he growled, pressing his lips to her cheeks, her eyes, her nose- again and again. “How would we convince Hoster?”

“You weren’t the only one who received a Raven with this news. Such blatant disregard for the daughter of one of the major houses of the Seven Kingdoms means trouble for _all_. He suggested that we use your duel with Petyr as a reason; that I am so beside myself with love for you and your latest act of heroism that I simply _must_ marry you as soon as I am able.”

“Are you saying you’re not?” He asked impishly, earning a swat to his chest. “I would be _honored_ to wed you as soon as I’m able- show those Dragon bastards how it’s meant to be done.” She smiled and wrapped her arms tighter around his waist- pulling him closer to her and further from his horse.

“Thank you my love,” she whispered. “My brave wolf... I know I’ll have to release you to this world soon, but I refuse to do so before I can console myself with being your lady wife... these events scare me Brandon. Things are happening so fast and I cannot predict how it will end and-“ she caught herself, taking a shaking breath before straightening her spine with the familiar dignity she possessed. He stopped their walk to take her chin between his thumb and finger.

“I promise you Cat... I cannot say how it will end. But I **swear to you** I will move forward as if you were by my side, lending me your wise counsel, acting as if my every move ensured your safety.”

“That’s all I ask. Now come, it’s nearly dawn and if we approach father now we might be able to be wed this sunset.”


	2. Rhaella Targaryen

There were no sounds of footsteps as Queen Rhaella walked the halls of Maegor’s holdfast, searching for a solitary spot where she could collect herself. The King had been set in a particular _mood_ after today’s farce of a trial. She supposed she ought to thank Varys later, for no one knew she looked in as the King (she refused to use his name in these moments) burned Rickard Stark as his son killed himself in a mad attempt to save his father. And no one even thought to look for the Queen as she fled to one of the unused wings to heave and quiet her heart.

Except, apparently, the sniffling huddle of the newest member of the Kingsguard.

It was like seeing a beloved ghost. The fine features, the hair of spun gold, and ~~sadly~~ the desperate attempt to maintain composure in the face of the King’s madness. Jaime Lannister was the picture of his late mother Johanna, and it was a picture Rhaella hadn’t even realized she missed.

She had sent her handmaiden from court for her own safety; Aerys’s madness had only begun to take root and his gaze had focused on her friend. But the years and bad blood between their husbands eroded the memory, and now it was too late to make amends. But perhaps it was not too late to save her child (both of their children if she allowed herself to hope).

“Ser,” she called out, burying her own horror from the day’s events at seeing a child in need of a mother. For all his skill with a sword, he was still a **boy**. She smiled warmly and sat on the floor across from him. “I do not believe I have ever had the honor of speaking to you.”

“Y-your Grace-“ he spluttered, hastily wiping at his face and making a clumsy attempt to stand before she stopped him.

“Please, sit. Ser Jaime, if I may be so frank... your mother was my cherished friend and as much as I hated having to send her from my side, I hate seeing her beloved son, who is _so_ like her, in pain even more. So please... tell me what I may do to ease your heart.”

And just like her own son so many years ago (before her husband intervened in her ‘coddling’), he curled into her arms and wept away his worries. And oh what worries they were.

It was rare for a boy on the cusp of manhood to have loved songs and stories so much that he would dedicate his life to the pursuit of honor and protection of those in need- rare, but not bad. Like a fine gem, now crushed to powder by the war hammer’s of capricious men and their politicking.

This needed to end before the last remnants of Joanna’s goodness were destroyed. Rhaella decided to write two missives as soon as she returned to her chambers, and she vowed her message would get across. For there had been only one person who had loved Joanna Lannister more than her- Tywin _would_ listen.


	3. Lyanna Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to put this chapter after the next one, but I think it fits better here

There was naught much to do in the tower since Rhaegar departed. Lyanna spent her days sewing clothes for the babe growing in her belly, and pacing as she awaited Ravens with any news of the world outside.

“If you spend too much longer on your feet you’ll end up tripping over your babe.” Came a clipped voice from the doorway. She frowned slightly and turned to face the Sword of Morning.

It had taken Lyanna the better part of their journey to realize that when Arthur Dayne was brusque or seemed annoyed with her, that was his manner of courtesy as he fought himself against any growing fondness.

“It’s not like there’s much else to do while we wait. I can’t exactly go riding in my condition... or my circumstance.”

“There’s always embroidery, or perhaps an instrument you could play?” He asked as he walked over to the cyvasse set on the table. Lyanna scrunched her nose in distaste and sat across from him.

“And being even more displeasure to my benevolent guards while we hold down and wait for Rhaegar? No, you’d much rather thank me for my pacing.”

Lyanna let her mind wander as they began to play, thinking back to how this all began and whether or not she still stood by her actions (not that it mattered much now).

The tourney at Harrenhal had been a whirlwind of excitement and heightened emotions; Rhaegar’s beautiful singing and his crowning her queen of love and beauty has touched the part of her heart she had most hidden away; the part that loved songs and romance and other ‘maidenly’ fancies that her brothers would tease her for. And when he found her in the forest the night of the tourney’s end- their conversation sealed her heart and their fates.

He came upon her as she struggled to rid herself of the mismatched armor the ‘knight of the laughing tree’ had worn. And instead of bringing her to his father (as commanded), or admonishing her for her unladylike behavior, he commended her prowess and conversed with her as he assisted her.

“You know that’s partially why I crowned you- you understand what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“To be confined by your station.” She stared at him then, and was only able to find a shy honesty in his blush as he looked away from her gaze.

“Not to sound ungracious, I mean I _am_ prince of the seven kingdoms,” Lyanna couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter at that. “But even with as much freedom and privilege I have, my chains are my own.”

“And what would those chains be, if your grace doesn’t mind my asking?”

“The same as yours or anyone else’s from a Nobel house- the chain of having your every decision and action calculated to best benefit your house, regardless of whether or not you think it’s right. The chain of the fates of the small folk and whether or not they live or die or go hungry when nearly all would sell your head to an enemy if it meant an extra sack of grain. The chain of not being able to pursue happiness by indulging in the most basic of human emotions.”

“And what emotion is that?” Even the memory of the look he cast her as he answered managed to steal her breath away.

“Love, of course.” Lyanna was sure that if she hadn’t looked away to respond, they would have ran away together right then.

“You seem to be forgetting a chain, your grace.”

“Oh?”

“No, not quite forgetting. But it is the chain all noble women must bear- the chain of being nothing more than your houses’ currency. Of your value boiling down to naught more than your womb.”

Lyanna came out of her memory just in time to realize she had won the match. Arthur silently cursed as he reset the pieces. She studied his face, searching the lines of worry and stress that their situation caused.

As much as she lamented and Rhaegar contested that she was far more than her ability to give birth, it was still her unborn babe that sparked this war. However much inevitable it already was, her choice ~~her selfish choice for happiness~~ started this rebellion.

She hated that Robert, her oafish former betrothed, did not for a second consider her agency in this. That she had **wanted** to go with Rhaegar. That she was able to love someone without being told to.

Then again... considering the other slighted party in this, she supposed that line of thinking wasn’t unreasonable.

Elia Martell was a dutiful, kind woman, and Lyanna prayed for her understanding as well. She knew the indignity she was done by them, but what was worse? To be set aside and live comfortably, or to risk your life trying to provide a man you didn’t love another child that he desperately wished for.

‘Perhaps Elia can be free now to pursue her own heart’s desires.’ Lyanna idly thought as she and Arthur played another round.

“...I hope Rhaegar comes back to me soon.”

“For your sake I pray Rhaegar comes back at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That if something happened to him you’d kill me?” She snapped, anger getting the better of her and coiling discomfort in her belly.

“No- but this is war. It would be foolish to not consider his failure. And _if_ that happens, what happens to you? A disgraced woman who for all anyone knows is unwed and defiled? The royal family won’t take you just because Rhaegar loves you, in fact they may blame you for the whole affair. And your family? Will Winterfell still welcome you home with a bastard in your arms?”

_Winterfell_. The thought brought mist to her eyes. Would it even feel like home if she went back now? With no Father or Brandon to embrace her warmly even as they scolded her? The fear that Ned hated her flashed briefly in her mind, but just as quickly disappeared.

“Ned would still have me. He’s honorable.“

“He _is_ devoted to his family, I will relent. Married your brother’s widow because there was a rumor she was already with a babe.” He said with bitterness. And Lyanna knew he was thinking about his own sister, Ashara, and how her and Ned had been set on each other since Harrenhal. Just more victims to her and Rhaegar’s thoughtlessness.

“Any word on how your sister is doing?” She asked carefully. She wasn’t the only one with a brother who loved her no matter what.

“Heartbroken of course, but she’s always been gentle and romantic. I’m hoping once things settle I’ll be able to return to Starfall for a bit to see her. Maybe help father find a suitable match for her- someone who would ease her heart. Someone good and kind.”

“And honorable?” She joked, but her companion’s face was still and serious.

“No. Someone better. Someone selfless.”

Lyanna could only nod and purposefully err in her turn, allowing him to win.


	4. Doran Martell

Doran read over the raven’s messages again and again, trying to find an answer hidden within. His hand would indeed have to be forced into action. Already his uncle Lewyn was being forced to participate in this uprising in spite of the insult to their house by the prince. And now he was being commanded by the King to send support (to the very man who cast aside his sister).

It was his sister’s safety which currently concerned him. Sweet, gentle Elia and her children were essentially hostages of the royal family now, and they were not above being punished as the King saw fit for any transgression from Dorne. Considering what happened to the Starks, the threat loomed over his head like a heavy sword.

In spite of this, there was the raven from the Queen; sent in secrecy he was sure, and filled with code and double-meaning. Queen Rhaella was a friend to Dorne, having been friends with Doran’s late mother and treating Elia and her babes with love the moment they joined her family- but she and the young prince Viserys had been sent away to Dragonstone, far away where their love offered little protection.

Still, however coded the message, the Queen _was_ urging him to take action. Against her own husband and son no less. She wouldn’t have done so if she thought there were any other recourse in dealing with them. Judging by the emphasis she placed on her friendship with his mother he could only assume a similar Raven had been sent to the Lannister patriarch.

Tywin was in a position that reflected Doran’s own; his most beloved son had been taken by the King under the guise of a position on the Kingsguard, effectively killing what little love remained among the two men. He had never met the man personally, but the stories he heard from his mother painted a cunning figure that commanded respect. He would not take any action that would risk his son’s safety, so the wise thing would be to follow suit.

Just then one of his pages swiftly and silently came into his solar, bringing news that a small contingent of unmarked ships was passing through their waters. These were times of war (at least if the news of the Vale and Riverlands calling their banners was true), any unknown entity in Dorne was cause for concern.

“Tell me more about any details noted about the ship; their crew, any remarkable features, _anything_ of note.”

“They’re finely made ships filled with strong, young men. As for notable features, it’s like they made a point in being as unaffiliated as possible. The only thing of note, my lord, was as they were being questioned, one of the sailors brought out a lute and began to play.”

At his silent urging, the page continued.

“It was ‘the Rains of Castamere’.”

The hushed tone tinged with anxiety told Doran everything he needed to know. It was a bold move for sure, but one that minimized any recourse should it fail.

“Send out our own ships in matching number to join them in their journey. Strip them of any flags or markings that can be traced back to Dorne, and tell Oberyn to see me before he departs with them.” It would do his brother well to indulge his bloodlust and earn some valor.

It was time for the dragons to remember the words of Dorne. ‘Unbowed, unbent, unbroken’, and should the Targaryens retaliate, they would add ‘Unburnt’ to the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that a **HUGE** influence for this part of the story is the ‘Southron Ambitions’ theory (which can be found at https://ladyknitsalottheoriesoficefire.wordpress.com/2016/02/07/southron-ambitions-turned-up-to-11/)
> 
> Please check it out if you love a good fan theory


	5. Jon Connington

He stood in front of the greatest man he had ever known ~~and loved~~ and listened to his last words. The last order that he would fight the very Seven to uphold. Upon whatever honor he had.

“Jon, I know no matter which way this turns out, there will still be a battle. The rebellion is too fervent and my men love me too much, so no matter if Baratheon or I win this duel, there is going to be much more bloodshed.”

“He’s a green boy full of hot air.” Jon Connington said assuredly, mostly for his own edification but he hoped Rhaegar would find comfort in that knowledge too.

“Don’t count him out just yet. No matter... I need you to make a promise to me Jon... if I don’t make it out of this.”

“Anything my prince. I swear it on my life.” Rhaegar grasped the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together, like he had done many times before with his closest knights. Still, his heart soared every time.

“It is your life I ask. No matter the outcome today it is not safe in King’s Landing, and my father has my children with him.”

“Surely you don’t believe he’d hurt them? They’re only babes and his grandchildren-“

“I believe that is _exactly_ why he would hurt them. Were my mother still there she’d be able to soothe his ire, but he sent her away for a reason. I don’t doubt he sees them little more as leverage to ensure Dorne’s cooperation. I need you to go and ensure their safety. Remember the dragon-“

“Must have three heads, I know. I swear on my life I will see them to safety. What about Elia?” He loathed to speak of her, for he never once thought she was worthy to stand by his prince’s side (and given the situation with the Stark woman, he was right); but she was the mother. She would not let go of her babes easily.

“Convince her if you can. Otherwise I’m sure she’ll be able to find her own way. She’s clever and has many who love her. It is the same withmy Lyanna.” A turbulent jealousy coiled in his gut at the wistful gaze that crossed Rhaegar’s features at the mention of her name. He normally loved what a romantic he was, but his tendency for passion had overriden his mind when it came to her.

“None of my men would dare touch her and risk my wrath. And should Baratheon win today, her brother would never allow him to harm her in anger. For all he professes of his ‘love’ he has yet to ask after her condition.”

Jon hummed noncommittally and spat upon the ground; not fully in agreement with Rhaegar’s distaste for the other man, but adding his own distaste for this whole affair.

In the beginning he was convinced it was just folly- another of Rhaegar’s passing fancies that he would soon grow weary of. But now here he was, standing beside the greatest man he ever knew as he gazed out before him, preparing himself for the possibility of failure. That he would die. It was unbearable thought.

“I have one more request of you my friend,” Rhaegar said, swallowing thickly. “Would you stay until the end? I know it’s imperative you get back to the capital, especially with the unmarked forces laying siege upon Blackwater, but if I am to die today, I would like at least one friend beside me.”

Jon Connington, unable to deny Rhaegar anything (no matter how it broke his heart), clapped his shoulder in agreement. And watched as Rhaegar schooled his features, whispered Lyanna Stark’s name to himself, and walked out to meet Robert Baratheon in single combat.


	6. Jon Arryn

The walk to the Iron Throne wasn’t a long one, but it was the most difficult Jon Arryn had ever experienced. Each step weighed heavy on his mind and the taste of victory ~~the fruition of all he and Hoster and the late Rickard had dreamed of~~ was a bitter one. War was never easy, but he was still surprised at the relief he felt upon entering the throne room and seeing Tywin Lannister seated there.

It made sense afterall; Robert was the most vocal (the ‘face’ of the rebellion), but it was no secret that it was the Lannister patriarch Aerys had feared most. Tywin was the one who ran the kingdom from the sidelines back when the kingdom was still prosperous. And Tywin was likely the mastermind behind the unmarked forces that helped turn the tides of many battles and headed the siege of Kings Landing.

“I must admit, I am relieved to see you up there because it means I won’t have to sit on that wretched seat.” Jon called out, dropping his helm in an errant pool of blood and sitting down on the steps in front of the throne, his knees finding relief for a moment.

“And that young bull of yours? Will he be relieved?” Tywin asked, face unchanged but a sliver of amusement (born from a mutual respect he hoped) shaded his tone.

“Robert will bluster and fuss, but he only ever cared about the insult done to him by Rhaegar. Now he’s had his revenge, he’ll come to heel.”

“And the winter boy?”

“On his way to recover his sister and bring back the remaining members of the Kingsguard. Dorne?”

“Oberyn is with his sister and my son now. Queen Rhaella sent a missive to Doran and myself. As much as I would have liked to bring the full force of the Lannister Army upon Aerys-“

“He had your son, I know.” Jon nodded in understanding. What happened to the Starks had become a sort of cautionary tale against what would happen if you offended the Mad King. Some called Tywin craven for not openly supporting the rebellion, but Jon knew better.

“He was the one who slew him.” He admitted, and Jon wasn’t sure what his purpose for it was. Perhaps to gauge his reaction to the knowledge his son was a Kingslayer.

“It must have taken a lot for him to be pushed to do so.”

“Apparently he had caches of wildfire hidden throughout the city and once word came that we were starting to break through, he ordered them lit.”

“Well then he did us a favor, seeing as how you’re not King over ash and bone.”

“No I’m not.” Tywin said, concurring the sentiment but there was a hint that he was also denying his claim. Perhaps his plan was to instate Rhaella back on the throne- a Targaryen dynasty with the madness culled from it.

“Robert is lifting the siege in the Stormlands but he’ll turn his attention to Dragonstone after. What missive would you have me send?” His eyebrow quirked at that, seemingly pleased at Jon offering his services so willingly. The future ahead of them was uncertain for all Seven Kingdoms, and all Jon wanted was peace. Be it under a Lannister King or familiar rule.

“I’d like to extend the offer to come back to King’s Landing, but realistically there are those who would see the Targaryen’s done with all together.”

“Robert is one of them. The insult he bore has festered into a hatred for the blood. So no matter the course it would do to provide them with a measure of comfort and safety. Rhaella is a smart woman and her babes are too young to understand.”

“Mayhaps an exile?”

“One that would befit their station. I’m sure Dorne will care for Elia and her babes.” The silence that followed put an unease in his heart. Of all that happened today, the pause Tywin took at the mention of Elia Martell’s children was the most chilling.

“Jaime only had time to reach one of them after cutting Aerys’ throat and stopping the call to light the wildfire. He was able to reach Elia in time, but even that was a close call. Her babes weren’t so lucky.”

Shit.

“Dorne will likely hold that grudge with them for awhile.”

“And what would you have me do?” It seemed they finally reached a point where they could speak plainly about the steps going forward.

“I would have you serve as the King of this realm, Tywin Lannister. And if you’d accept, I’d have me serve at your side.”

“I would have that as well, Jon Arryn. I have a lot of respect for you, and the reputation of honor you hold. Something I am not too proud to admit that I am seen as lacking. For better or worse the realm now depends on us working in tandem.” Jon nodded in agreement.

“For better or worse.”


End file.
